Parenting as You Go

The Favorite

2009-03-27T07:57:00.000-07:00

A friend asked me if my son's siblings were jealous of the financial help we were giving him for grad school. Honestly, the thought had not crossed my mind. My answer was sudden and definitive: no. But, then the thought was introduced and, of course, made me wonder if I was dreaming. Somehow missing this dynamic in our family. The one that involves jealousy and the longing to be the special child, the favorite.

It's not like I am oblivious to that green monster that lurks in many, perhaps most, families. It's safe to say that anger and jealousy were the predominant emotions of my own family of origin. There was always this sense of a finite amount of love, nurturing and resources. If one child happened to receive attention, say for an illness or accident, the others were bereft. What little love and attention that was available was being doled out in lavish servings to only one. It inspired some pretty amazing battles. If you were the favorite in my family you paid a high price. The sibs attacked on many fronts through physical violence and even more painful, through the battering of the ego. By the time they were finished with you, if they ever finished since the battering goes on even today, you were left whimpering in defeat and confusion.

I don't remember being the favorite, ever, in any realm. Family, work, community or otherwise. The status of not-the-favorite has held me in good stead.

So, I asked my daughter if she was jealous of the help being given to her brother. She replied, "of course not. I would be disappointed if you didn't help him. In fact, I would help him myself if it was possible." I didn't bother to ask the other son who was finishing up a year in Germany and had traveled to several European countries. The daughter's answer gave me true parenting joy. I realized that she got it that in our family each person is cherished and supported in ways that cannot be measured. That is not to say that we, as parents, do not make mistakes. But the mistakes are forgiven because in the end everyone is the favorite. I like to ask my kids the following question: if you had ten mothers would I be your favorite? They answer correctly every time.

Verliebtheit or How to write a love song

2009-03-26T13:12:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about writing love songs as opposed to break-up songs or dating songs.
That led to researching love. First I looked up speed dating because of the notion that we realize we are attracted to another person in a few minutes. Not sure if it is two minutes or eight minutes. Either way, it's pretty scary how we decide to pursue someone within in a flicker of time. Chris' girlfriend Elyse saw him across a gas station and knew at once she wanted him. It just goes to show you that the place does not have to have any romantic cachet. Speed dating led to the concept of Limerance which means the involuntary cognitive and emotional state of intense romantic desire for another person. It is characterized by intrusive thinking about the object of one's desire and can elicit extreme joy or extreme despair. Verliebtheit means fallen-in-loveness. I refer to the german word in honor of Tommy who speaks the language fluently and is quite fond of the german culture.

What is alarming about limerance is that it is similar to obsessive-compulsive disorder. OCD is the name of Christopher's film company. The feelings of limerance are intensified through adversity, obstacles or distance. The constant thoughts about the limerant object define all other experiences. Thus the similarity to obsessive-compulsive disorder. The other thing that I know about this intense form of love is that it can only last for 18 months. The brain is not capable of dealing with this level of emotional cliff-hanging for any longer than that. It's a blessing, because otherwise, nothing would get done. The poor limerant would be in a constant state of love fever.

Ain't it grand!

I KNOW EVERY ONE YOU'VE LOVED

2009-03-25T07:26:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking more and more about the need for a partner. I am privy to the dating stories of three different generations. Erica, my 26 year old daughter; Rob, my 42 year old co-worker; and Laurie, my 82 year old mother-in-law. One thing for sure, the search for a mate is not for wimps. It takes great courage to expose oneself to the scrutiny of another. Because each searcher is doing in-depth analyses of physical attributes, family background, intelligence, interests, education and most important of all, baggage. It seems that after about the age of 22, baggage accumulates. In the twenties, it is the number of romantic relationships, intensity of those relationships and any vestige of feeling whether love, hate or regret. Erica has written an extraordinary song about this facet of relationships. She has a great line that goes: I know everyone one you've loved, I know every one, by the qualities of moonlight....you could know the sun....It's a song that evokes the messy perils of beginnings into the unknown. I think she should send it to Grey's Anatomy or House for their mood music.

In spite of my lack of dating experience, I have plenty of advice for the mate searchers. Thirty-five years in a relationship to one person has been far from settled. Sometimes I think it's been like being married to three different people. There have been estrangements, break-ups and courting that then pulled us into new relationships with each other. There were the ten years before children. Then another twenty years raising the children and now five years post children. Each "marriage" was influenced by our adult stage of development, preoccupation with careers, child-rearing and friendships. There is something amazing about sticking it out with one person that can make you a better and stronger person.

It's interesting that my sons maintain strict boundaries regarding their romantic relationships. What I mean is that they rarely and sparingly divulge information about the status of long term relationships or new relationships. I think that it may be a gender thing. Women love to talk about relationships in a way that is completely foreign to men. Men like to be in the relationship but don't seem to need to talk about it. Women get added value by talking about the relationship. My male co-worker seems to be an exception to this gender rule.

The other reason for this strict sense of privacy could be my own reckless forays into their love lives at tender ages. It was startling to me that my sons were interested in the opposite sex. Maybe a little threatening, perhaps a bit of jealousy on my part. So I asked intrusive questions trying to gain some sense of control which was futile. It took years to figure that one out. Once the shock that one's child was interested in another person romantically became more familiar, then I could enjoy their ability to love. All three children are loving, affectionate and respectful people.

:: notes from daughter erica :: OR :: dating as you go ::

2009-03-08T14:30:00.000-07:00

My mom is right. I have been going out on dates. My joke has been, "Dating: what's better than feeling alone? It's feeling alone with other people. ... Oh wait, it's worse. It's worse."

My parents are both very fond of giving out dating advice. This, from two people who met and fell in love with their life-partner more than 30 years ago, two people who, when they were the age that I am now, were already a few years married and making a beautiful home and life together.

Their advice is mainly: don't worry about it, love will come. I appreciate that they don't also espouse that great myth of love, that "love comes when you're not looking for it." I have never, not once, ever, not wanted good partner-love. And my level of desperation has had zero correlation with whether or not I found it. This "stop looking for it and it will come" idea is another dangerous manifestation of the illusion of control, that you can have any control over what is, essentially, a cosmic lottery.

But certainly, "not worrying about it" would help the time pass more easy. My parents are right. My mom is right.

In the meantime: I've been going on dates. In the last few months there have been a slew of auditions for the role of partner, not limited to but including: The Bro, The Mispronouncer, The Physicist, The Bad News Lion, The Posey Pony, the Engineer, and now, The Young Calvinist. That last one is sweet and uncomplicated; being with him has the effect of making me feel less complicated. This is a good thing. We'll see how it works out!

Glowing parents with disinterested baby

2009-03-03T14:27:00.000-08:00

The Subject is Romance

2009-03-03T14:13:00.000-08:00

I have had the best time talking to my daughter about her romantic or more accurately her dating life. She finds it interesting or ironic that I have so much to say on the subject of dating. The fact is that I have very little dating experience. I met her father at the age of 18. His room-mate, who was my friend from high school, invited me over for dinner the first week at Michigan State College. One look at him and I was thinking about how to break up with the boyfriend I was with at the time. It took eight months. What occured during those months was more like hanging out, making out and then we were together. That was 35 years ago. Erica has been going out on dates. There have been introductions through friends, chance meetings at bus stops and connections through various websites. There is a lot of angst involved in the anticipation of each date or encounter. There is getting to know the person, who are you, what do you like, who do you like, where do you come from, what are the family stories and what are you looking for in a relationship. How do you know when you have met "the one"? I tell Erica that you should feel like your best self when you are with the person.

I listen to her stories about the dates and have found inspiration to write a song. So, we have been collaborating on a song about dating. I called it "Kissing Boys" because this process seems very much like kissing frogs until you meet a prince. Any reference to kissing seems to have been edited from the song. No matter. The experience of writing the song has been joyful. We have very different styles but it doesn't seem to matter. She finds the gold in my words and meaning and transforms the verses into something special.

I am looking forward to her comments about our conversations on dating.

FIFTEEN MINUTES

2009-02-07T07:03:00.000-08:00

I have just 15 minutes to write this blog because I am at the library and this is the drive-by computer. We are on dial-up at home and writing a blog seems to make the computer crash. What do you write about in 15 minutes, now 13 minutes? I am spending a lot of time working with teen-agers lately in my counseling practice. I happen to love working with teens which is interesting because I did not particularly love parenting teen-agers. I loved my adolescent children very much but did not enjoy that stage of their development as much as most of the others.

I loved infants. The pure animal care and feeding of infants was bliss. I loved toddlers. I loved watching them become themselves, declaring their independence, announcing their needs and really enjoyed their adoration of me and their father. School-age was a tender time and their father especially was good at this because he is a natural teacher. He knew about their favorite tv and comic book characters and could discuss storylines in great detail.

The teen years were exhausting. My fifteen minutes are up. More next time on the paradox of being able to relate better to other people's teen children more than my own.

THESE PEOPLE DON'T HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THEY ARE DOING

2009-01-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

There has been a noticable lapse in blog entries (four months to be exact). I attribute this inability to write about parenting to living with a parent. In fact, for two weeks, we lived with two parents. We called them "the Moms".

We are back to living in our nest, just the two of us. I can reflect again on being a parent instead of a designated daughter. I was thinking about starting out as parents while framing some old pictures that were at the bottom of a box of -can't part with them- family artifacts. There is a picture that was taken in December 1982 in the Rocky Mountains. We were on vacation with Craig's family which we did every year for almost 20 years. The picture has two young adults with big smiles and one small baby. The baby is not smiling, in fact she looks pissed off. Erica was three months old when the picture was taken and we took her everywhere. She was wrapped in layers of blankets and was wearing a darling pink hat. Craig is holding her in one arm, face to the camera so that she could be properly posed for all to see. We were madly in love with her but apparantly did not consider that this little baby might not appreciate being out in the mountains in subzero temperatures. I imagine her thinking: these people don't have any idea what they are doing.

Well, we didn't.

But, I wonder if these early trips planted the love of travel. The children pretty much grew up in one town, one home. It is in the northeast region of Vermont and our home is located at the end of a mile long driveway. In the woods, no neighbors. We have a snowplow, truck, tractors, barn, shotgun, pond and many creatures of the forest. The three adult children live in LA, San Francisco and Philadelphia. Tommy lived in Berlin for a year. Erica regularly travels around the US and went to Germany twice last year. Chris lives in LA which in my mind is an exotic locale.

Where did they get the courage?

The College Years

2008-09-27T07:42:00.000-07:00

Decided to tackle the college years. Our third child is in his senior year so I think there is considerable experience racked up regarding this phase in child rearing. Last week I heard the tail end of a radio interview featuring one of those "life coaches" who helps teens get into their college of choice. The price tag really made an impression. It costs $14 thousand dollars to coach a teen. I must confess a certain attitude when it comes to life coaches. I believe that you can get the same results from relying on friends and family members to offer advice and cheer you on in your goals. But the life coach gets a lot of money for the same efforts and who can blame them for charging. (Of course, I am a therapist and charge people for my services. I will write a blog later on about how my profession is different from friendship.) But, back to the theme of the day. Maybe people are more likely to take the advice if they have to pay for it. After all, one would hate to waste all that money spent on advice. Even if you find every word irrelevant or not anything you would want or need to do. Anyways, this whole concept of paying someone to help your kid get into the very best college is a reflection on the baby boomer's competitive nature regarding child rearing which involves raising a child who functions at superior levels which then reflects upon the superior child rearing abilities of the baby boomer parent. This focus on raising a superior child is capped off by the child attending a much sought after school. Preferably ivy league costing bucket loads of money. The more expensive, the more the parent can sigh and shake their head about financing their child's education. How did parents get so involved in their children's college admission process?

Here is my confession about my own college admission process. My parents laid down one rule. The college of my choice had to be within two hours driving range from our home. Other than that, live it up. That was one of my father's favorite phrases. I had a brief conversation with the high school guidance counselor who seemed bored, but happy to hand me information on the two biggest state colleges in Michigan. My grades and SAT scores were good enough to get into both schools. I did not visit either college. My boyfriend at the time had decided to attend the University of Michigan. The other college was Michigan State. Nicknamed "Moo U" if that gives you any indication of its reputation. It began as an agricultural college. I completed both applications. No essay or teacher recommendations were required. My decision making process was this: which ever college invited me first would be the college who got me. Although U of M had the shinier reputation and my boyfriend at the time was going there, I liked the idea of being an organization's early pick. Well, the rest is history because I met my husband Craig the first week at school and, as a result of this meeting, broke up with my boyfriend. Besides that I got a pretty good education and it only cost $9 thousand dollars for four years.

On the other hand, the college admission process for my three kids was a huge production. It involved essays, recommendations, reams of applications, rating colleges by sure thing, almost sure thing and reaching for the stars. Each application cost $50. There were decisions about early admission which meant a commitment to the college that welcomed you in December rather than the traditional following April. This process generally started during the Junior year and there was an expectation to visit as many colleges as possible. College visits really are just another way to create even more tension and wedge distance between parents and their teen. Want to witness disgust in its most exquisite state? Attend a college walk through and presentation. The other time one can witness similar emotional angst is the day parents move their freshman into the college dorm. All those years of superior child rearing for one of the unhappiest days of your life.

I want to write about my personal experience as a parent who helped their children during the college admission process. Each child's experiences were incredibly different. I attribute those differences to their unique personalities and my own growth as a parent. Or from sheer exhaustion. This is an opportunity for my own children to comment on the process. The next blog will address my hard earned wisdom on college admission. Ok so it may not be wisdom, my own smart aleck opinions on the whole damn thing.

The Blog Block

2008-09-20T10:21:00.001-07:00

It has been five weeks since the last entry. I have blog block. My mind is a blank when it comes to ideas about parenting. So, good writers, profilic writers, say write anyways. Even if you have not one interesting thing to say. I will write about the block. What is going on? Could it be that living with my parent, my mother, has erased everything I know about my own parenting! Before writing further about the block, I must comment on the ease of writing on the library computer which has DSL. We don't have DSL. Before we ever get DSL, I am hoping that we will have a wood burning furnace, solar panels and an invigorated composting system. Then we will deserve DSL. Just like we deserve direct tv which we have right now.

What is the effect of living with one's parent? In many ways, Craig and I have been parenting my mom. She arrived five weeks ago. She walked down the long hallway in the Burlington airport having just come off a flight from Orlando. She had most of her belongings with her. The rest had been mailed a few weeks prior during the week after my brother's death. Mom was homeless. She was in debt and she was in deep grief. She was starting her life over at the age of 80. But here is the wonderful thing about mom. She has a photographic memory which I did not inherit. She memorized the computer keyboard in one day. She bought a laptop computer and has a g-mail account. She delights in this new- to- her technology that opens a world of communication to her and her friends and family. She has partial vision but is able to use most of our appliances, manage the stairs and walk around the property. She is not afraid of the bears. Initially, me and the siblings were concerned about mom's ability to adapt and move on. We thought of mom as fragile. That is so far from what has happened. Mom is made of steel and she is highly adaptive.

Ok, so here is the lesson that I think is our strength as parents. In spite of our own fears, doubts, weaknesses, we love to see our children develop their independence (and mom's too). We are big on learning. Learning skills, learning for the sake of learning. Did you know that you can learn anything from a book? This brings me to a big exception, and yes, I know there are others. Learning to drive. I was a complete failure at teaching and encouraging the children to drive. I literally could hardly loosen my own grip from the steering wheel of the car to let my children practice. I was deathly afraid of being in a car crash. Erica does not own a car and has used public transportation for the past 8 years. The same with Tommy. This is actually a good thing not a direct result of driving phobia. Chris on the other hand is driving the Vibe in Los Angeles. Now that is what I call exposure therapy. And I mean for me. Just knowing he is driving in LA traffic is forcing me to overcome my horrible phobia which is really not about me driving but my children driving. Or letting my children drive me around. Someone must have written a book about teaching/encouraging your adolescent child to drive. It should be called "Teaching your Child to drive for Dummies" or in my case "paranoid nitwits".

Kahlil Gibran wrote about giving your children roots and wings. I think we aspired to do that with our children and my mom. Sometimes you need the roots and sometimes the wings. I love it that the children, young adults now, do the following: travel, work (and are not picky about jobs if that is what is available), cook, clean their own habitat, have many wonderful, interesting friends, create art, play music, are romantic and affectionate, read, write and learn. They are independent and rooted. They come home. They leave. I miss them.

The Beast Years

2008-08-16T10:50:00.000-07:00

There is a serious misconception out there that the twenties are the "best years". I have been doing a lot of thinking about these years lately. Our son Chris recently moved to LA to attend the American Film Institute. He drove with his father in the Vibe across country so that he would have a car. There is no public transportation in LA. You have to drive. In fact, he says that anyone who does not have a car is shunned. The trip took a little more than 3 days. Yes, 3,900 miles in 3 days. It's not how I would have traveled. You can bet your job, your firstborn and your mortgage on that. There would have been many stops, perhaps a look at some of the sights you have to see before you die and certainly, we would have stopped in nice motels. I require a good mattress, clean shower (versus an unclean shower...use your imagination) and a decent cup of coffee just to even consider facing the rest of the day. But, they were efficient, if not comfortable and arrived with plenty of time for Craig to get an idea about life in LA. He reports that the rental house that Chris' friend Dan found was beautiful in its time. You know, like an older woman that people comment: oh, she must have been a beauty in her day. There will be plenty of room for the four housemates and that is largely because they have so little furniture. Craig was able to identify two beds and that was about it. They went shopping for some kitchen implements. He says that they will at least be able to make a pot of spaghetti. After awhile, it became overwhelming. You know, the traffic, the lack of furniture, the things that needed to be hooked up in the house and the sheer newness and unknowingness of everything. It's exciting and sickening at the same time to be so unsettled, so at the beginning. Two years ago, Erica moved to San Francisco. She sold most of her belongings in Boston and flew out to San Fran by herself. About a month after her move, I joined her to help her move to a more permanent apartment. We took a taxi across town and carried five boxes up the stairs. I was in awe of her courage.

We were there at one time too. I remember those years with great fondness but would not live them again.

Then there is the uncertainty of romantic relationships. The break-ups, the make-ups, the single without visitors and single with visitors. Really, our only criteria is that our children find someone who will make them happy and make them feel more like themselves. The looking is a grand adventure but being settled in a relationship of 30 years seems so much easier. Of course, there was a lot of work and a lot of making up during those 30 years. So we are watching our children struggle with so many decisions during their twenties. Work, where to live, relationships. The twenties are not the best years, they are the beast years. It's an amazing beast. Very mercurial, hungry and big. It is also a pleasure to watch our children make their decisions with so much grace and courage.

Thanksgiving 2004

2008-08-01T11:58:00.000-07:00

The Summer of Broken Things

2008-08-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

Here all the things that have broken this summer: the computer, the fridge, the hot tub, the vacumn cleaner, the red vase, my watch, the sewing machine, my brother Mark. Some of these things have been fixed, some are waiting to be fixed. My brother Mark died on July 4 of congestive heart failure. He was broken for many years. There were attempts to fix him, but you cannot ever "fix" anyone. I know better as a counselor. People have to see that something is broken and then they have to want to change it or heal it or deal with it in some way. You can want better or different for someone, but maybe they don't want something different. They want what they want. Truly, I am not sure what my brother wanted for himself. He lived with my mother for the last 6 years of his life. He was very physically ill, visiting the doctor on a regular basis. Taking his meds, not taking his meds. He continued to abuse tobacco and alcohol inspite of the advise from his doctors. It was painful to see him in person because he looked so sick. Pale, yellow, bloated stomach and a look of fear and deep sadness on his face. But it was his life and he lived it as he wished. When he died, it was a shock. It didn't matter that we, his siblings expected his early death. Talked about it: you know, when Mark dies.....Mark will surely die before Mom....what will happen to Mom when Mark dies.... Still, it was a shock and it made me feel bone tired. That is what serious sadness feels like, exhaustion permeates every cell of your body. I had a few dreams about Mark after he died. He was happy in my dreams. I am sure that his broken spirit has been healed. I realize that this summer of broken things is an important lesson. Things break, sometimes you can fix them. Sometimes they cannot be fixed. Sometimes, other things come into your life and take the place of the broken thing. I am waiting to find out what will fill in the empty place of my brother. It's happening right now. I am waiting.

IF ONLY LIFE WAS LIKE A PARAGRAPH

2008-06-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

Recently received feedback that my blogs were long. No paragraphs. I understand the concept of paragraphs and am fully capable of using them. For some reason, I have been writing in this blog as if it were one long stream of consciousness. It's not. Paragraphs have a beginning and an end. There is a main idea. One detail can be the highlight of the paragraph. In fiction, paragraphs can be one word, one sentence or a conversation. Paragraphs can be indented or not, but do need some kind of stand alone look about them. Life is not like a paragraph. It kind of swirls around, you cannot be sure where things are going to land most of the time. Life is messy, but in mostly a good way. The concept of a paragraph may help put order to my thoughts and perhaps help the lovely readers to follow my thoughts. This is the end of my thoughts on paragraphs.

I have a few more things to say about the trip to Berlin. It's been great fun showing the pictures to friends who seemed amazed that we all got along so well. There were questions like: So was there any tension? Did you have fights? We really did get along and if there was tension, people kept it to themselves. This is very much not like my family of origin or even Craig's. When my siblings gather, the adults feel compelled to share all their thoughts. It doesn't take long for at least one person to be offended. People even make things up. Not blatant lies, more like assumptions such as I think he/she deliberately is trying to sabatoge my wedding. These assumptions are based on some fairly sketchy evidence like a missed phone call. More importantly, the tension builds because someone always has to bring up the past. It cannot lie peacefully in the past where it belongs. The tension builds and usually results in people not speaking to each other, sometimes for years, until the next family gathering.

In Craig's family, the tension is associated with the details of extravaganzas. Over the top is the standard that seems impossible to reach, but somehow must be reached. There is tension among family members, but it bubbles under the surface, in huddles among two or three family members. There are no dramatic confrontations, accusations or drawing of the swords like in my family. I think there is a lot more crying in Craig's family. My family yells or seeths in very scary ways.

Now we get to observe our own adult children interact. We are no longer the center of their lives.
They come and go, seem to enjoy our company and even better seem to accept our idiosyncracies. Like going to bed early. They have their own relationships, separate from their relationship to us the parents. They are the three together and then the many combination of diads that results from the number three. It gives us, the parents, delight that they maintain contact, visit each other and support one another.

Traveling with twelve year olds or when they act like twelve year olds only more fun

2008-06-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

We recently returned from a family trip to Berlin, Germany. The purpose was to visit Tommy who spent his junior year of college in that city. The idea of a trip perculated for some time, starting with me. I considered inviting Craig, well he was invited, but there were many obstacles to him coming along including obtaining a passport, getting the time off and really wanting to travel to a foreign country. It didn't look good for Craig last fall. But I was wrong on that account which will become clear later in this blog. I asked Christopher and he seemed interested. He had the same issues as his father, but with less reservations about foreign travel. Erica had a trip planned for January 2008 so she was all set. Around April, Craig and Chris both applied for and received their passports within a few days. Mrs. Buttinski arranged time off for Craig through his secretary. Mrs. Buttinski is my alter ego. She is everything I aspire to be in real life but somehow never quite reach the mark. You know: decisive, organized, outspoken and pretty much a know it all. Or would like to know it all. She is called "Mrs. B" for short. I bought the tickets, made reservations at the hotel and we were ready to fly to Berlin, via New Jersey and Amsterdam the last week of May. When Erica found out that four out of the five members of our family were on vacation for a week she decided to join the group. She said: this can't be the Dreisbach family vacation that almost happened. I am sorry to say that this was only our second vacation in twenty years. You cannot count visiting relatives, because that, as it turns out, is not a vacation. It is visiting relatives which actually violates most rules that define vacation. Our other vacation occured about 15 years ago when we took a week to see Gettysburg (Craig is passionate about the Civil War), Amish Country in Pennsylvania and New York City. It was a wonderful vacation and I am fairly certain that all five members of our family have lovely memories of that week. But back to Berlin. Tommy seemed excited about his entire family coming for a visit. He assured us that he would organize an interesting itinerary and there was a lot of talk about trains, buses and trams. Transportation became quite the interesting feature of our vacation as it turned out. Erica reserved a flight and we were to meet in Newark for a few hours. She had a direct flight to Berlin and would wait for us at the Tegel airport. When our little trio of me, Craig and Chris checked into the Boston airport Craig inquired about the possibility of changing our flight so we could be with Erica. This was unusual behavior on Craig's part, that is veering from an established plan, especially about a flight. Craig has a history of bad flight karma. If it can go wrong, it will. You have to accept that your flight will be delayed or cancelled if you fly with Craig. It's not his fault. Not one bit. Anyways, the clerk had one of those friendly, open faces that you like right away. She got on the phone and called her friend "Oz". He turned out to be the Wizard of Oz because he put us on Erica's flight and even arranged for Chris to sit next to her. And there was no extra charge. All of Craig's previous bad flight karma was instantly erased by this extraordinary turn of events. It was reinstated later, on the return flight. More on that later. So we did not have to land in Amsterdam, but flew directly to Berlin. We took a taxi and found our hotel a few hours before check-in time. Wandered around the city looking for a cafe. We were refueled with coffee and patries and returned to the hotel. There was a very nice park across the street and we decided to hang out there until the 3pm check-in. Of course, we were tired after a rather sleepless night on the red-eye. The Wizard was not completely magnificent because Craig's seat was in the back by the flight attendants and the bathroom. People tended to lean on his seat while they waited for their turn in the loo. Apparantly, a lot of people on that flight had very weak bladders. We were also privy to the flight attendants chat fest regarding annoying customers and annoying co-workers. Apparantly there were also a lot of annoying people on that flight. So, we were tired. One by one, Craig, Chris and I fell asleep in the park. Some of us on the bench and some of us on the grass. Erica stayed awake because she sensed that the family needed supervision. She took pictures of us so we know that we were asleep. Soundly. Some of us in some pretty awkward positions. We later learned, from our walks through the park, that a lot of cranky old men with alcoholic tendencies also hang out in the park. Erica's instincts to keep vigil were not unfounded. Finally, we checked in, washed up and napped some more. Tommy breezed in around 6pm and the games began. He immediately bought us each a train/bus ticket that was good for the week. Those tickets were well used. This may not be true, but it feels true. We took every bus route available in Berlin. I need to comment on Tommy's behavior during this vacation. He actually took over as guide, interpreter and I have to say it: mother hen. Actually, sort of like a kindergarten teacher. He kept us together as a group, helped us cross streets, watch out for the bikers on the bike paths who would just assume run you down as go around you and got us off and on the trains. We were given advance notice so we could adjust to transitions more easily. He made sure that we ate regularly and time was alloted for naps every afternoon. I'm not sure, but I think that this inspired the group to start behaving like twelve year olds. There were a lot of silly songs and jokes about bodily functions. There was giggling. But we did not turn on each other. We were a tight unit. Our circle became especially tight during our encounters with a surly waitstaff at the hotel. Every morning we met for breakfast for a feast. It was luxurious. One of the waitstaff really did not like us. She did not even try to hide her disdain. Perhaps we were too obviously american. Maybe one of us reminded her of a boyfriend that treated her badly. Too bad for her. We were not going to change and not one of us even tried to charm her with our collectively considerable charm. Not to be wasted on miss sourpuss. Do you see the twelve year old tendencies? There is so much more to write about the trip. I have to wrap it up for today. I am actually writing this blog in the library because of fast internet service. We have dial-up at home and lately, it is getting slower and our e-mail is all screwed up. More later.

Anger Schmanger

2008-05-18T05:15:00.002-07:00

We don't do anger well in this family. I was reminded of this fact two days ago when Craig and I had a minor upset over one of those robotized phone calls. The robot from Direct TV called asking to confirm an appointment that I did not know about. I could not confirm, was vaguely afraid of confirming some kind of expensive upgrade and said: I don't know. The robot interepreted that as "no". The appointment was cancelled. When Craig found out, he was angry with me because he had spent a week arranging the thing. You would think that the company would know that meant he really wanted the appointment, but no, they had to have their robot call to confirm. Anyways, he was mad at me and that upset me because I could not tolerate his anger and I started feeling stupid that I had not figured it out at the time. His anger was really a brief flash, no yelling, no breakage, no words really were involved. But I was deeply offended and truly embarrassed and my reaction got out of hand. A few hours later, yes, it took a few hours including a dunk in the hot tub to settle down, Craig said we do not know how to fight. That is my point in saying our family does not do anger well. The kids will have to weigh in on this, but it is my observation that they also do not do anger well because of this big lack in parenting. It's along the lines of teaching them to drive which will be another blog. The result of not doing anger well is avoiding confrontations. In some ways I think we try to be kind to each other which is never a bad thing. I discovered very late in my children's lives that if I scratch their backs while asking intrusive questions, they seem to respond and forget to be angry with my nosiness. So we did not teach them about properly expressing anger, fighting and living to tell etc. I am sure that this has it's effects on their relationships.

And the point of Mother's Day?

2008-05-10T14:50:00.000-07:00

I have always had mixed emotions about Mother's Day. No, that is not a true statement. I have developed mixed emotions about the day in the last 10 years or so. My first Mother's Day as a Mother felt wonderful. I was a mother. I had an extraordinary child. I had fallen madly in love with this child and she seemed to return the feelings. Her existence gave me proper entree into this special club. I loved everything about being a mother. I loved the care, feeding, dressing, changing and cooing involved in mothering. Then the next child arrived, a boy, and he added to the delight. The third child came along a few years later and even more delight. Of course, that is the end of the story (their births) so there will be no more on the subject of births until much later. The children were not aware of Mother's Day for many, many years. Their father, took on the responsibility of acknowledging the holiday with the usual card, flowers maybe some candy. Mostly a very nice card. One year I got a paddle boat. It's a great boat and I still use it every summer. Somewhere along the way, I asked for mulch and since it arrived around Mother's Day it became a tradition for the family to give me mulch on Mother's Day. We still call it Mother's Day mulch even though I buy it myself and not anywhere near Mother's Day. But there you have it. A few years ago I told the children that I did not want any special attention on Mother's Day. No card, no gift, no phone call. Well, I call each of them on Sundays anyways. So I call them on Mother's Day. My rationale is that every day is mother's day. I am a mother every day. There is no need to call attention to this role on the designated day in May. Erica pointed out that this aversion to Mother's Day is exactly opposite to my feelings about my birthday. I love my birthday and expect all family members to join me in celebrating the day. I think everyone in the family also loves my birthday. But back to Mother's Day. Besides my own personal thoughts and reactions to the day there is also the larger societal issues such as the fact that many people have complicated relationships with their mothers. Some people no longer have their mother. Some women are not mothers and never will be. Mother's Day just rubs their noses in their losses, pain or choices. So tomorrow is Mother's Day and I will be buying my own mulch and calling each of my three children.

I always did like the to read the end of the story first

2008-05-08T11:31:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about my parenting style/philosophy/credo for a few months now since receiving the best compliment of my life. One of my children, ok it was Erica, evoked curiosity from her boss about how she turned out to be an incredible young woman. I am interpreting the compliment here, but it certainly was something that meant incredible. Of course, there were two of us and my co-parent will be invited to comment. I really want my children to also comment because, after all, they taught the parents how to be parents. They did it as we went along, you know, parenting as you go. I think it must have been frustrating at times because they were working with some fairly strong-willed people. But we seemed to be open to suggestions after struggling with our own ideas about what good parenting was about. I am going to start with the end product. Christopher told me that they, our three young adult children, are not finished. But they are well on their way to being interesting and cool adults. I realize that hearing that your mother thinks that you are cool immediately nullifies being cool. They are so cool that they will disregard this uncool mom thing. Anyways, they turned out really well. They are all kind, socially conscientious, artistic, have good taste in music, art and literature and know how to make and keep friends. They know how to love and receive love. They appreciate what they have and are generous to others. They are all three my favorite people in the world. How did this happen? I go back to the premise that the children taught the parents. I will be writing in this blog about parenting with comments from the children until we work our way back to pregnancy.